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Owen has been doing this little camp thing this week, basically a preschool prep where they go through all the motions (line up, sit on the rug, play with other children, try not to hit them, do a craft, eat a snack, wet your pants, etc.) but don't actually try to teach them anything at all. After all the drama we had with Mia in her first year of preschool, and her second year of preschool, and her first couple of weeks of kindergarten, we thought a little dry run would be a good idea.

And oh, I was so hoping that Owen would be one of those children who tripped merrily off to school with no more than a warning not to let the door hit me on the hiney on the way out, but so far at least it is not to be. Day 1 was ok, Day 2 he was leery, Days 3 & 4 he had to be physically pried off my body by his teachers. And once he gets through that he does ok, really well even, and he is always happy when I come to get him and has lots to report and his teachers swear that he bounces back quickly and is having wonderful days. So we keep doing it, because he is ready for school and it is good for him and he needs to learn that I can leave and still come back, but having a three year old beg me not to take him to school and then cling to me while screaming hysterically breaks my heart into a million pieces every single time.

And of course, Mia comes along with me for drop off, and I have been trying to explain to her why we keep doing it, and what she was like when she started preschool and why we kept doing that and how sometimes it is my job to do things that make my children unhappy and that also make me unhappy because I have to do what is right for them even when it sucks all around. So she asked me how I knew this was right for Owen? How I knew he really needed to go to the camp that makes him sob instead of just waiting for school in the fall.

I told her the truth - I don't know. I have no idea. I know Owen and how he is and I know what things I think might be good for him and I know how things were with you, but then I just take all of the things I know and close my eyes and hope and guess. Which is what we all do, I know, and then we open our eyes and hope that it was right, and if not right, then at least close enough.

When you have a three year old girl following you everywhere you go, and it gets to the point where you either go kill whatever is growing in the shower or give it a name and start a college fund, you can just convince the girl child to play Cinderella and get down to the shower cleaning.

When you have a three year old boy following you everywhere you go and the shower reaches critical mass, it is much harder to wield the bleach and sponge in one hand while fighting a vicious light saber battle against attacking battle droids with the other.

(I'm going to have to just firebomb the shower. At least Owen will enjoy it.)